A Small Collection
by JJ Gestapo
Summary: Philosophy updated to near completion, need only a tweek or 2. Ch 3: Archangel. Kimmy, and a bit angsty. Still in prog as well. Random rants usually involving Greed, and his thoughts involving sex, etc...Requests will be taken into account.
1. Something Smells like

**A Small Collection….**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Full Metal Alchemist. If I did, well, I'd be one helluva happy lady right now with a certain swoon-enticing Sin at my side.

Hehehehe, my most precious Greed, that feels so……hehe, ahem, never mind. My poor amine drugged mind is going through withdrawal again.

**Date:** 11/22/05, 11/29/05

**Summary:** Greed's perspective on a particular scent.

**A/N:** I only find it right that authors get their fair recognition in my work, cause, let's face it, we all get a little inspired after reading something.

-To Domenic, in Mr Fuzzy Jacket, thanks for the inspiration on drabbles. Never thought I would/could do a random collection of scenes without some sort of actual storyline behind it.

-Psychodog- for insight into background of both anime/manga. I like your portray of Greed. (Calls Dante "The Bitch." That always cracks me up. XD)

-And any others who I cannot recall just yet. Some real good works out there! Keep it up, even if I don't get to review you right away!

**On A Last Note:** Can expect more random stuff. I'll try my whack at requests (please inspire me, I hate Writer's Block! Eek!). Also, this piece was inspired by…Shards, by gelfling. Some hot stuff in "Product Warranty." I always enjoyed using lines that described the smells of leather, liquor, cigarette smoke, etc…b/c most of it was involved in my original works. Feeling the urge to rant about it, I put the topic up for debate, FMA style.

Though I know there's some heartless bastards out there, please go easy on the flames. I know, my philosophy is to learn from your mistakes, but I'm very proud and egotistical, so criticism is hard to swallow. Please forgive my sheltered life if something is out of place.

**Something Smells Like…**

"Oh, _GOD_." Martel muttered loudly, turning away towards the door as if she were about to make an exit for no apparent reason. Roah and Dorchet looked up from their card game at the bar counter, interested in their comrade's actions. Greed remained undisturbed from his skin flick magazine, turning each page slowly with a longing look.

"What is it?" asked Dorchet, not having the slightest clue what her gripe would be today.

"Something stinks," she began in a blunt, mater-of-fact tone, eyes sweeping around the room in search of a source, "REALLY bad."

Dorchet looked to Roah, who only gave a slight shrug of his large shoulders, not caring if anything actually _did_ smell out of place. Hey, it _was_ a low run-of-the–mill pub anyways. Martel slowly walked about the perimeter of the bar, starting near the 2 chimera first before continuing her patrol. After making a round halfway around the room, Dorchet decided to set the card game aside and help Martel out with her investigation.

"Well, um, so…what's it smell like?"

"Gross. Something really, _really_ disgusting."

"That doesn't help."

"It's like…something between, liquor, testosterone and estrogen. And…"

That's when it struck her.

"Yeah…?" Dorchet urged her on.

"……Leather."

All three simultaneously looked over at Greed who, in turn, just happened to gaze up at the same time to meet the accusing expressions presented by his chimeras. He let the book fall down a little ways, as if to say, 'you've got to be kidding me,' and stared blankly back at the trio, mouth twitching as he awaited an inspection.

Martel crossed her arms over her chest and slowly approached the homunculus, and once positioned above him, took the _slightest_ whiff before nearly gagging and shielding her nose with her hand. Greed appeared unamused, and after a moment of tolerating her dramatics, fluffed his magazine back into its reading position.

"You finished?" he drawled nonchalantly, licking a fingertip and turning to the next page.

"Greed, you **_reek_**."

"And what of it?"

"It's gross."

"Mm-hmm…?"

"It's very disgusting."

"Ya-huh."

"_And,_"

"So…?"

"Ugh! _Men_." Martel groaned, throwing up her hands in hopelessness and stalked back to the front door of the Devil's Nest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there-" Greed spoke up, sitting up in his sofa seat, long legs retracting back onto the floor from the surface of the low-rise coffee table. When the female chimera turned on heel, she didn't look too pleased, muscled arms crossed and face painted in a powerful frown.

"_**What**, Greed?"_ she almost snarled, but restrained enough frustration as not to evoke the potential temper of the homunculi. No one had actually seen Greed lose his temper yet, but no one ever doubted that he had one, and one that was immeasurably nasty. It was better to live in fear than to face the unexpected and unknown at times.

"It's not…_that_ bad," he started, gruff voice inflected slightly in questionable curiosity, stating while simultaneously -but not inquiring directly- asking for an opinion.

"You smell like SEX!"

"_Really_?" he said, elated by such a simple reasonable answer that it came off as sarcastic to the ever-moody Martel.

"So_ THAT's_ what it is…" An index finger and thumb curved around his chin while the rest curled on the top underside of his thick throat, rubbing back and forth. He suddenly stopped, releasing his dirty magazine and raising his right arm, pulling his fuzzy jacket aside and first, smelled the fluffy and leather fabric before under his own arm, then, as if unsatisfied, did likewise to the other. Now fully content by his own inspection and critique of himself, Greed shrugged his shoulders and raised both palms upward.

"I dunno what you're babbling on about."

"ARRRRRGGGG!"

Utterly aggravated by the incompetency of the company she kept (and perhaps by their lack of manners at times), the Snake Chimera walked, er, rather stormed out of the tavern, securely slamming the door behind her. The three men looked to one another, the homunculi again lifting his heavy slouched shoulders to a lazy shrug while Dorchet and Roah decided to resume their game at the bar.

Greed picked up his publication again, staring at it uninterested before throwing it down again into his lap.

"How can you '_smell'_ like sex? I mean **_really_**, let's think about it, sex is a verb, not an item or thing. It's an action –an I'd know it is, I've whored around enough to** redefine** it."

Dorchet looked back at him and gave an appeasing nod of acknowledgement to his rant, but in the, 'I'm not going to get involved' manner. Greed continued onward despite his lack of interested audience.

"Sex is not a flower, you just can't smell it. I mean you can do it, like sleep, but it has no fragrance. Doesn't matter how many people I screw daily. Sure, I could smell like their cologne, or perfume, or even mine, it doesn't matter what, but you can't have a definite scent. It's different each time."

"An' since its different each time, there can't be one smell of sex. It's like the saying, 'you smell like the wind'. No one can smell like, 'the wind'. There's too many different factors to add into the equation to make it equal one word, one smell, or whatever. And we all know that quote-on-quote _equivalent exchange_ crap. So don't ever tell me that I smell like sex."

Dorchet and Roah were completely ignoring Greed now, both a little pissed off that their game kept getting interrupted throughout the day by menial shit. One more schpeal like that and they'd move elsewhere. Feeling like a weight had been lifted from his chest by his little rant, Greed fell back into his indentioned seat in the couch, the groove having become his personal space. Having waited a moment he had decided was long enough for any sort of additional remarks to be made, he thus dubbed himself the victor of the declaration made against him, and happily took up his picture porn and flipped to the next page, smirking in dirty delight.

At last, there was peace in the pub.

Until…

…there's ALAWYS and "until" with this crowd…

Until, that is, when Roah placidly looked at his cards and pulled one from the center stack, shuffling it accordingly in before adding in his own thoughts.

"What she meant was; you smell like another person's pheromones and sweat. Their perfume too, but mostly that particular scent that, no matter how much you scrub and wash, never comes out, or off. _That_, is the smell of sex, Greed."

It was there that philosophies collided like two freight trains head on. Greed shot a spiteful, even nauseated scowl in his direction, muscles tense anticipating to make it a physical matter. He didn't appreciate it when people insulted his intelligence, even if they may have/had done it unintentionally or out of jest.

"I didn't ask for commentary from the peanut gallery."

It was Roah's turn to shake his head in mystification and sigh, seeing clearly now why Martel had made the point to leave rather than argue. It just wasn't worth it, especially when Greed shot one of those 'don't press me' looks. Looks to kill for because they were suave and sexy. Looks that would kill you if you ventured to close. The slight show of sharp teeth did little to convince anyone otherwise with their primal symbolism still looming in the background.

An unsettled silence smothered the room, Greed brooding over his book while Dorchet and Roah engaged their game of Go-Fish. Just if things couldn't get any worse…

The Crimson Alchemist, Kimbley made his entrance, nonchalant with his coat thrown casually over one shoulder, strolling about with arrogant smugness as if he owned the place. Though oblivious to what the happenings were inside the walls of the Devil's Nest, the insane convict could still feel the unnatural high tensions of the room. Looking from the homunculus to the 2 remaining chimera, he didn't quite know what to make of the situation, and decided if anything, to ask the talkative Dorchet what had occurred during his absence.

"Hey," he began softly, gesturing to Dorchet who swiveled halfway around in his stool to face Kimbley. "What's going on?"

Dorchet discreetly nodded in an unhappy Greed's direction, the homunculus glaring at the dog to shut up, then scowling at Kimbley before returning his surly amethyst eyes to his reading material.

"Oh I get it, you guys are fighting. Welp, don't mind me." He said a little too cheerfully. If anything, he figured he could lighten Greed's mood with a little sick, sadistic humor as usual. And if not, talking about gorgeous women usually enticed a smile or two out of him. So it wasn't hard to imagine the Crimson Alchemist taking a close seat to his recent companion, budding up as he carefully looked over the buff shoulder and fuzzy collar to steal a preview look at the latest edition.

Greed's eyes shifted slightly from the material to steal a glace at the gold eyed man, then uncaringly fell back onto the colorful pages of a voluptuous young brunette. He had a feeling he could trust Kimbley to be on his side, even if he hadn't been present for the conversation. A small smirk crossed his frowned lips as he fancied the idea.

Suddenly he jumped back a little, as if he had just remembered an earned he had forgotten to do. Despite how Greed had the urge to turn over to the next page, he paused, wondering if Kimbley was too, struck funny by the particular location of the piecing on the lower region of the girl. A fleeting moment passed before Kimbley vocalized his response to the unexplained jolt, and when he did, he did it with innocent diction.

"Something smells like sex."

Well? Was it horrible? Ultimate, uber suckage? (silently pleading it's not) I hope people caught on to Greed's lingering anger about Roah's interpretation of Martel's earlier statement, and how Kimbley just reopened some recent wounds of words. Maybe goad him into another rant XD!

I want to thank my comrade back at the home front for spending a half hour on the phone with me, coming up with the script.

Read and Review! I demand you! As your future world Over/War Lord, I command you to! (Laughs maniacally, until rolling on the floor in pain).

**Next Up! "The Philosophy of The Pimp"**


	2. The Philosophy of The Pimp

**A Small Collection….**

**The Philosophy of the Pimp…**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own FMA. Figures, that things never go my way.

**Date:** 12/06/05, 12/015/05

**Summary:** Greed gives Kimbley some advice on women.

**A/N:** YAY! Reviews! It's like Christmas! Thanks to my reviewers, sorry if I still haven't gotten to reviewing any of your works lately. I'll admit, it's mostly on my part: every weekend from 5:00am to 5:00pm I've been outside hunting (which by the way, has been quite successful, I got both a doe, and a new friend donated me his coyote, which I'm having turned into a little "rug." Excitement!), I've been catching up on my backwork for school, projects and all, stupid Work and the "Boss Lady", and perhaps my largest problem yet being this side free-lance FMA fanfic that I'm always doing in class involving Greed's numerous affairs (come on, we ALL know that he's regularly servicing women on the side…myself included, hehehe, sorry, my bad, I just _want_ him _too_ much.)

**On A Last Note:** This piece isn't quite what I had in mind, but it'll do just as well. I couldn't quite find anybody in my ring of friends who understood what I was trying to say, so I took another approach. Expect some Kimbley/Greed suggestive material. Let me know if it's worth an M rating cause I don't wanna get in twouble. Even if you're not into the whole K/G thing, it's a bit comical, or so I hope…

**Thingy of the day:** "Necropolis" WTF? It just popped up in my head.

---

**The Philosophy of the Pimp…**

Too bad bursting people into flames and little piles of soot wasn't as gratifying as it'd used to be. That was all before some broad had screwed it all up for him. Nothing had been the same. He hadn't quite "fallen in love with her," but the aftermath sure as hell hurt enough to send **_AT LEAST_** 6 people to their fiery graves the other night. Perhaps it was just a strong lusty enamor, or maybe for the count, that it had been some years that he had lain eyes on such a beauty, or any woman for that matter.

She said things weren't working out. That he should go to some sort of rehab, or self-help center. He wasn't the right man for her. He should stop stalking her. Then she blew up for, "no apparent reason." Amazing how people have suddenly been spontaneously combusting recently, no thanks to Kimbley an' all…Nope. NO involvement **at all**. He was just delusional, & violent- your regular lovable psychopath.

That's why he went out of his way to return to the Devil's Nest –he was practically returning to The Devil himself. But if he didn't soon, _He'd_ come looking after him, and when he _did_ return, he'd get the 20 question Gestapo style. If Greed was liquored up nicely, or had his hands full with a woman, or better –had both, it should go smoothly without all the embarrassment and messy emotions.

With a heavy sigh, the Crimson Alchemist pushed open the front door, carefully taking a near full surveillance of the room before proceeding in. Finally the tavern had emptied out, surprising, especially since it was particularly early for a Friday night like this. Discreetly shutting the door behind him as not to wake the residencies, Kimbley held his back turned towards the interior of the bar, easing the hinges just right so that they wouldn't creak with an ungodly squeal.

"What's the matter, Kimbley?" Greed laughed, his immature voice cutting and exuberant as usual and forcing a shiver out of him. Kimbley actually began to wonder if the homunculus ever napped…or even slept for that matter.

"I don't believe it; After **_all_** of the sex and booze, you're **_still_** up, whacking off. What the fuck's wrong with you? Don't you ever get enough?" Kimbley snapped offensively, somewhat disgusted by the turbulent, perpetual sex drive the homunculus possessed. No creature, in their right mind (and even in Kimbley's corrupted brain, or what he had left of his disease-ridden conscious) should want to fuck something or anything THAT much.

"Well, apparently more than you. Don't tell me you've forgotten who I am, my dearest Kimbley." Greed sneered back, this time letting his round glasses fall down his long nose to reveal his striking lavender eyes to the alchemist. Kimbley couldn't help but shudder under his watchful gaze –it made him sick, that constant longing and want in his eyes. Even when he closed his golden eyes to block it out, he could still feel his stare raking through his innards like a live pig being gutted in the street.

"Just shut up. Unless that is, you want to get blown up." Kimbley threatened, glaring at the carefree Greed who only returned the ill-tempered man with a seductive smile.

"Lemme guess, she dumped you for another man." Greed drawled lazily, a slight chuckle in his voice that laughed knowingly as his glare darted back to the other man.

"No," He began confidently before his voice wavered in remorse. "She said things weren't working out. Wait -why am I even telling you this?"

Greed simply held up a pair of awfully familiar looking panties, the cute little pink ones that she was wearing just the other day that wasn't so well hidden beneath the veil of a short-short skirt. It took the alchemist longer than expected to piece it together. When Kimbley final came to a conclusion, he began to seethe uncontrollably, the alchemic etchings on his palms itching to get Greed's thick throat within grasp. Greed simply burst out laughing, holding his sides in pain at the priceless expression. Already hurt by the woman from the other evening, and finding out now that Greed was banging her on the side, the very pissed off Crimson Alchemist seriously debated if he should blow the homunculus up: repeatedly, until he was unable to pull himself properly together.

"You're a real bastard. A real friggin' bastard. You know what pisses me right off? All the time you spend and commit trying to get a woman to fall in love with you, and she leaves you for some other whoring fuck."

The look Kimbley shot at Greed was cold enough to freeze the venomous blood in _his own_ veins. Of course, just to get under the Crimson Alchemist's skin even more, the Devil merely smiled back without fear or threat, a genial grin that sent a perturbed flush across the sharp featured face. Intelligent brass eyes fell to the floor and instinctively came to rest upon the tattooed palms, his sick mind now in the midst of formulating a new idea, _'_Equivalent exchange_; the loss of the girl could be forgiven, as long as for the compensating factor, I get Greed.'_ A little smirk pulled hard at the corners of his mouth as he fancied the thought, but to disguise his intent, he held it in malicious purpose to fool his prey.

The best way to go about manipulating the situation, was to play it as normal as possible. Homunculi had uncanny senses, they could detect the slightest discomfort, and as long as these thoughts remained concealed and the energy redirected into some other falsified feeling, he'd be fine. He decided to continue the "would be normalcy" of the situation, and threw his jacket over a shoulder as he feigned to leave.

"You know what your problem is, right?" Greed asked, sipping from the lip of the bottle instead of a glass, his voice a bit softer now instead of his usual 'indoor bar voice.' His expression revealed the slightest hint of relief as Kimbley paused before the bar entrance, as if he were considering listening to his words of wisdom.

"_Tell me_, since you're **_all_** knowing. Enlighten me." Kimbley prodded in a vicious biting manner, twirling around and taking a step back in, making a slow approach to the whoremonger on the couch.

"Well, your problem is, you're starting with the emotional side first. Girls want their bodies tended to first, even when they _pretend_ otherwise. Why do you think they can get seduced just by dancing? Or why they flock to me? They know there's a guaranteed prospect that they'll get touched or fondled later. **_ But_**…they don't want to appear to be sluts, or easy, so they put on this whole grand act and dramatics just to fuck with your head."

Kimbley raised a brow, his smile more apparent now as he took a seat across from Greed. Greed was very much pleased to see that Kimbley had "chosen" to stay. He new what the underhanded alchemist was planning, he blatantly reeked of conspiracy and desperation. Granted, he was tough to read, but not impossible, and that's why he had been stringing him along all evening. The dead girl now –hell, she was just a pawn. Her death wasn't part of the plan, but it wasn't disregarded either, especially with the over sensitive Kimmy. _His Kimmy_.

"If they weren't so enthralled with sex, then why would they practice kissing on one another? People may think women are all prudes, with an occasional exception, but really, underneath their docile mask, they're carnal sex hungry demons waiting to get their minds fucked out. They do it so they can entice a man to bed. If you didn't know this, then you'd just become another fatality, another victim to their sick little puppet show. The key is not to let them gain the upper hand in the relationship: you have to fool them into believing that you're under their spell, but really, you're the mastermind pulling the strings. _That_, is the nature of the beast, a dog-eat-dog world if your not careful there Kimbley."

Kimbley began to a slow clap.

"Beautiful. Freakin' beautiful, but you're forgetting one very, **_very_** important factor…"

"And what's that?" Greed volleyed coyly

"All you sleep with is whores. Your little, 'toys' as you like to call them."

"You just think they're whores, cause they're going to bed with me all the time. **_ I'm_** a _whore_."

"Is that so now?" The Crimson Alchemist could feel himself being aroused by the thought of making Greed his own toy. A little play item that he could do whatever he wanted to it as he liked.

"Yeah! A lot of them are actually upstanding, up-to-do women, some with families, others with husbands who are poor in the sack. Hell, I even screwed this young nun once."

"So, what you're trying to convince me of is that I should try to get in bed with her _before_ I get her to love me?"

"Exactly. Fuck her good the first time and she's all done. Unless she's found someone more sexually gratifying that is…Man, what are these humans teaching you kids?"

The convict stood up, expression rather pleasant as he had been satisfied by the explanation from The Ultimate Pimp himself. Perhaps the same idea could be applied to Greed too. Maybe he wouldn't get lucky tonight, but if his tenacious patience held on just a bit longer, he'd have the possessive homunculus right where he wanted him.

"Kimmy…"

Kimbley froze in his tracks, brow twitching slightly as he whirled around, looking rather offended by the new pet name. He didn't mind it, but he didn't approve of it. It made him sound…cute. His nasty scowl alone spoke for him, but it didn't seem to have the desired effect on Greed, who carelessly beckoned him with the wave of a hand to come back to him. Those amethyst eyes had culled him back to the couch, this time to the open seat next to him.

"What?" Kimbley barked after an uncomfortable moment of silence, dangerous gold eyes looking back into the face of the homunculus, desperately trying to decipher what he was hiding beneath that crooked grin. Little did he know how easily he had been fooled into Greed's web of want. How he had become the 'woman' in this scenario. The womanizer carefully removed his round shades and set them on the low-rise table in front of them.

"If you'd like, I can give you, no…show you a few techniques I've picked up recently."

Kimbley could hide his surprise as his eyes widened in disbelief. Without another moment's hesitation, Greed slipped a hand under Kimbley's throat, pushing both his head up and a gasp out as he leaned in. This sort of proximity was usually uncomfortable, but instead it gave the Crimson Alchemist the adrenaline rush he needed to stay conscious as Greed whispered under his breath before pressing his lips onto the young man's. The way his cruel lips just barely brushed over his own was tormenting enough to procure a sigh of pain.

"Don't worry Kimmy; you're in good hands with me…"

And that was all the reassurance he needed as he let Greed dominate the situation, a large strong hand clutching at his knee and slowly sliding its way up his thigh, the pressure applied by his thumb on the far inside driving a half laugh from his throat with the touch of a tickle. It's nothing more than persistent tonguing and biting involving blood extraction, and heavy petting, the kind of general activities that one would expect from a young couple to engage in the back of a movie theater (minus the blood from Greed's biting). Kimbley was lost in the ecstasy, his marked hands wrapping themselves about the thick neck and strong jaw while Greed had worked his way beneath the sleeveless shirt, applying just enough weight on the vulnerable man's stomach to induce labored moans. Kimbley couldn't take it anymore; he wanted, no, he _needed_ release, and without thinking, he too reached up the leathered thigh, which until he had ventured too close for "demonstrations," was pushed away by a smiling Greed.

"See? It's not all that complicated. Now all you have to do is find yourself a woman to use it on. But you still haven't learned…"

Kimbley smirked in the homunculus' hold, lips forming into a demented smile that laughed like his eyes did.

"Who said I wanted to use it on a woman?"

---

**Finally!** I finished installment 1 of **The Philosophy of The Pimp**. I say #1 because I'll never know when I might find the original idea I was working with.

I've even confused myself a bit, b/c I'm still uncertain how I want to portray Kimbley, so don't get too offended. I'm investigating some psychology stuff to help me out. Or I'll just BS something up.

Hehehe…who's fooling who? Was it Kimmy who had manipulated Greed, or was it Greed who had strung Kimmy along the way?

I'm still gonna work on **Archangel**, but I'm looking into another Kimmy/Greed fling. Getting angsty while Kim searches for stability and Greed provides him with it. Hey, psychopaths need love too! Just look at me, I'm a friggin prime example in the flesh!

Hey, Ficy-meisters out there, I need your assistance: I'll be using a quote in my next chapter, but I'm unsure if my absent minded brain had shorthanded something from somewhere, or if I had actually gotten in touch with my poetic side one evening, b/c that's a high possibility too. Just keep an eye out for it when I get around to posting it, okay?

**AND LISTENTO THIS! THIS IS VITAL TO YOUR SURVIVAL!**

It's: **_Zolf J. Kimbley_**

And I know it's this b/c I was fooling around with the caption on my TV and that's how it's spelt. Just like it's also; **_Marta_** and **_Dorochet_**.


	3. Archangel

**A Small Collection….**

**Archangel….**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own FMA, but I do own this version of Kimbley's thoughts. But I want to take credit for "Kimmy."

**Date:** 12/12/05, 12/13/05

**Summary:** Kimbley gets anxious waiting for Archer and gets _too_ nostalgic.

**A/N:** Inspired by "Secret of Ishbal" episode, with Kimbley and the poor individual in the hall who kept trying to escape his grasp. And the whole Archer relationship; it's quite suggestive. Made me think, "How can I relate this to Greed?" and then I realized it's titled "A Small Collection..." so it could entail anything I wanted. This is dedicated to Greed/Kimbley, and Archer, for being a hot, conniving bastard that he is.

**On A Last Note:** I don't know why Kimbley's been overrunning my thoughts lately, but the more I read about him, the better things seem to get. Hey, give me some credit, I just put in a request to the Fanfiction board about adding Kimmy to the roster of characters. Also, I selected "Archangel" for the title b/c I thought of my English teacher's symbolic explanation of Archie Costello from The Chocolate War; Archie-Archangel, _the Devil_, see the connections? _Archer + Archangeldevil in disguise?_ Yep. That's good ol' Archer for ya. I used to hate him, b/c of Greed and all, but he's got the looks, so he's still good for a fling, occasionally. Maybe. Damn hotness and evil guys…

**Thingy of the day:** "Juxtapose" I'm trying to make a habit here. Humor me if you think it's worth it:)

---

**Archangel**

How boring, this damned train ride that felt like forever as it glided down a parallel trail of steel wrought bars, a sick singing tone reverberating up the walls of the wooden coacher and piecing the hollowed and numb struck minds of military dogs that lodged inside of it. Along with the trains music flitted a music of a different sort – a silent, semi-psychotic hum that was just audible enough to stir some interests. Kain Fuery couldn't help but glance around at the unusual melody –no one he knew of had those kinds of particular habit. An odd fellow wearing a solid white mask near the front of the coach sat rather unexcitedly, leg over leg and arms behind his head.

Somewhere between a grunt and exaggerated sigh of ennui, the masked man found his voice, rough and gritty like sand paper over a blackboard.

"Ugh. Can I take this off now?"

Armstrong lifted his eyes, his emotionless features only moving with his blond moustache mouth.

"Go ahead."

"Thanks, Strength." He said as gratefully as any uninterested man could. You could tell he was smiling behind that fake facade, just by his uplifted tone, a little laugh escaping.

"Much better."

Colonel Mustang, who sat across the isle jumped at the instant recognition of the owner of the sinister voice and unmistakable gold eyes. It was…

"Kimbley!"

The ex-now-reinstated-State Alchemist looked over with a sexual malicious intent in his expression, his posture leaning subconsciously closer to make it personal.

"Hello Major Flame. Haven't seen _your_ pretty face in'a while. Oh, _I'm sorry_, it's _Colonel_ now."

His voice was rich and thick as usual, always disturbed and sarcastic. A kind of sarcasm that Roy wasn't going to tolerate from some loony fresh out of Lab 5. Things were stored in there for a good reason. To be forgotten. Criminals and convicts weren't wanted, and Kimbley was part of that equation.

Before Roy could protest, Archer stepped into the car like a phantom, silent, unexpected, unwanted, and right on time. He was always so cool and casual, seldom losing his temper and having a knack for unnerving Roy in the most cunning of ways. So eloquent and thoughtful he could've charmed rust off of iron.

"Is there a problem, Roy?" Archer was grinning ruefully as usual, pale face etched in a perpetual emotion that was enigmatic as it was captivating.

"Damn well know there is. What's he doing on the train, Archer?"

"Who? You mean the Crimson Alchemist? Lieutenant-Colonel Zolf J. Kimbley?"

Good old reliable Archer, playing it calm as if nothing had happened with a tainted, corrupt innocence. A sick manner under the guise of something kind.

"Lieutenant-Colonel?" Roy mused, bewildered by Archer's casualness. The underhanded pale-faced man took a seat next to his salvaged sorry excuse for an alchemist.

"This man was wrongfully imprisoned for crimes he did not commit. And just before he was subject to illegal experiments in Lab 5, he heroically escaped. And now thanks to his fearless work, all the lose ends from the Lab have been tied up."

Kimbley couldn't help but peer a sly golden eye at Archer, keeping watch on his effortless smooth gestures. Fucking Archer; how he could embellish without all the elaborate details and unbelievable lies. They were just half truths. A twisted irregular grin convoluted Kimbley's lips into something poisonness.

"This is ridiculous! _Crimes he didn't commit, Archer!_"

Roy was furious. And Kimbley liked it when he was –he was _so_ hot when he got angry. How his over-macho voice broke with an elevating rage and seething temper, how his igneous eyes felt like they were piercing your soul…it was an instant ignition for the demented sadist-masochist. That's why all those years back Kimbley had gone out of his way to piss Roy off –just the little shit, the tiny quirks that could set people off like a flame to gasoline, the things that were disobedient and couldn't get you in trouble. It was the kind of thing he got off on, frustration and temptation. Or like watching an amateur chainsaw juggler……………especially when there was the occasional 'mishap.' He shuddered in memory. Mustang still hadn't changed.

"I remind you, the Führer gave me the right to colonel this operation and I don't need to listen to any lectures from an equal ranking officer."

That shut him up. And it turned Kimbley on. That two-faced snake Archer had a conceited, matter-of-fact way that he despised, but the cravings of the flesh could overlook those little, minor flaws. Again that Phantom's smile, elusive as it slipped behind a chilled face of porcelain. Kimbley frowned in secret despite the miniature victory: Archer would be a tough one to break, and that was a fact. Like poured concrete he had a smooth texture, invulnerable, indestructible. Nothing deterred him, except maybe Edward Elric's tenacity. Greed had been another matter entirely: lounging, whorish, possessive, generous, animalistic, wrongfully sexy. Always reeked of both the finest and worst of perfumes and alcohol, tinted by cigar smoke and well aged leather. He swallowed hard –no, he couldn't think like that. Greed was but of a mere memory now. He was freed from him, or so he liked to think.

The lingering silence stifled both the train car and Kimbley's mood despite his false smile. Just then, Armstrong broke the silence.

"What about his report you received, sir? What did it say?"

Archer lifted his pale eyes and smiled that content smile that intimidated everybody who saw it. His voice was soft spoken, masking all evil intent.

"Oh, do you know anything about a town called, _Lior_?"

---

-At the new military establishment in the wasteland, Archer's room.-

"I want you to remain in here, and that's _an order,_ Zolf. I can't afford you wandering around -without being administered some sort of medication at least."

Archer smiled, watching the young man sprawl happily on the bed like a dog, pushing up his shirt so a free hand could lightly finger his stomach and lower chest. Content that he could leave the Crimson Alchemist unguarded, he brushed off his uniform and headed for the door.

"…you know…that was hot today…" Kimbley spoke half awake, eyes closing as a forearm fell across his face.

"What was?" He played coyly.

"You know damn well, fucker. _Damn well_. Your arrogance……"

"Hmm? What about it?"

"It's…appealing,"

"Is that so?"

Silence. So silent you could hear Archer's smile break his expression.

"Keep the voices in your head Zolf. And I mean it."

"Whatever. Bastard."

The door shut.

The footsteps disappeared down the hall with a faint echo.

Kimbley didn't bother to get up. His whole body was overcome with a dull pain from the long ride there. Archer –the manipulative prick. He had to be such a hard ass about everything. But, how he had handled the situation, like a well-oiled, orderly machine, the wheels always turning 3 and a half strides ahead of the others. That same egotistical authority he carried, throwing about the grant of power the Führer had installed in him, the way he referred to him as Zolf in privacy as if to establish his supremacy. It was that kind of control that gave Kimbley an instant hard on, just like raping, blowing shit and people up, and pain did.

He whimpered in silence, the ache in his groin growing worse with each dirty thought that relived in the back of his mind. He needed to fool around with someone or something –and Archer wasn't going to provide just yet and there was no homunculus to "stroke his ego." He flopped to his side, already bored out of his mind and needing a good fuck, whether it be on top or bottom. He was instructed not to leave.

"Fuck him." Kimbley muttered, gold eyes scheming as he watched the door with great intensity. He'd blow the bastard up, that's all. Woops, a slip of the hands, Archer nothing more than a compilement of bone fragment meshed beautifully with raw bleeding sinew all over the marble floor. Kimbley inhaled sharply, feeling the intensity to fuck something silly and sore becoming a primal necessary. There was that girl…Riza…Roy's unspoken woman. She was a decent catch.

His cold hand slipped beneath the belt line of his uniform slacks, a displeasured sigh escaping as he attempted to think "happy thoughts." Death, screaming, girls, guys…Greed…When was the last time he had to jerk off? In all his company kept with Greed, he never had to worry about who he'd bed with every night. Greed, in a sense had spoiled him. There was always a guaranteed source of affection, fondling, fawning, explosions…His pants came heavier, a knee raised and tilting to one side.

Greed had cared for him. The simple bastard was willing to drop his defenses and sacrifice anything to please him and keep him at his side. He had turned coat and sold him out for Archer, for the military…for nothing. It was all wasted in vain. So he'd be able to destroy people with some excuse, but with Greed things had been different, he could do whatever it was, as long as it was in his best interests.

Much like his craziness to have the combustible leylines etched into his palms to suffice a hunger to kill people, sex was just as important to him. The whole point was to get off on it. He couldn't help it –serial killers and insane psychopaths had a tendency toward that kind of thing. The Sin had always been ready for a go around, ready for the fun and willing for the commitment of nightly rituals and laughter. Always so gentle, tender, passionate, animalistic, lustful and proud, a riddle wrapped inside a sphinx, a source of stability in the ever changing world, safety, contentment. And now it was all gone…

Kimbley took a difficult gulp of air, the unknowing lack of breathing causing him to feel lightheaded. Since when did he get so nostalgic? So wanting and longing for the past? Was it really worth it? To be holed up here? To be confined and cuffed in shackles?

The pleasure was gone: now it was just a need to make himself feel better. Feel wanted, feel belonged. A sickening queasiness churned in his gut and he gave up, unable to digest these thoughts which plagued his absent mind. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no crook of a shoulder to snuggle into, no soothing hand to run up and down his back in consolement.

Sitting up in hopes of thinking clearer, Kimbley was only depressed by his surroundings. He felt like an animal inside of a cage. This whole change was getting to him. That had to be it. Wait, it couldn't, just how many times had he forced a woman in broad daylight in a park? He was practically content with any setting, spectators or no spectators. Had to be Archer –what a kill joy he could be to his subordinates.

Kimbley began to pace around the room like a predator waiting for his chance to strike at meal time when the keeper came by. He did whatever he could to keep his thoughts clear from all things, especially Greed and Archer, and all things pleasing, which happened to be the worst 11 seconds of his life. Hours passed with emotional pining and crying and anger –all these swelling emotional hazards finally besting the broken mind into submission that ended with Kimbley curled up partway beneath the bed, arms covering his head and knees drawn partway up to his chest. There was no mercy or closure found here, but it was relieving to do what he had secretly wanted to do with Greed alone…

Sorry if it seems that the story twisted towards the end in another direction. That wasn't my intention, it's just that I changed the music I was listening to the NIN With Teeth album, song #13. It got all, "thoughtsy." I'll try to get back to where I was going with this.

Hey, what do you think of my portrayal of the Kimmy/Archer relationship?


End file.
